Pygmalion
by Victoria Kathleen Wright
Summary: The true narcissist falls in love with everything about himself, including his work. A D/G reworking of George Bernard Shaw's beloved Pygmalion. [in the process of being updated]
1. Act 1, Scene 1

**ACT 1**

**Scene 2**

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><p><em>King's Cross. September 9, 2002. 11:25 AM<em>

"MOTHER!"

A young, raven-haired woman dressed in elegant robes marched down Platform 9 & 3/4. With her high cheekbones, silky hair, and sapphire eyes, she would have made a lovely sight had she not been hurling curses and rants out of her plump lips for the past half hour.

Another woman, older but just as lovely, and bedecked in even more regal robes and extravagant jewelry than her companion, sighed.

"Yes, Astoria?"

The younger woman, Astoria, stomped her left foot in response.

"Don't do that, Astoria, it's unbecoming!" Her mother snapped. "Even in a crowd of the scum of the magical world, we are expected to retain our dignity."

Astoria sneered. "I don't see why we're here in the first place. A servant could have brought Caelum into this filthy Muggle place."

"We're on probation, Astoria. It's our job to mingle successfully with Muggles if we do not want to be on house arrest."

"I see no problem with that."

Mrs. Greengrass shot a tired glare at her daughter. "Please, Astoria."

Astoria huffed. "Well, fine. But there's no legal need for us to stay here twenty minutes later. I do wish Darren would hurry up with the Muggle vehicle. We can't stand here until half-past eleven, with the rest of these commoners!"

A bronze-skinned, well-dressed young man strolled over to the Greengrass women. "Unfortunately, Astoria, it seems we are all to be stranded here for the time being. The storm simply won't agree with my need for sunshine and fresh outside air." Astoria huffed in disapproval.

The gentleman ignored her and instead bowed and kissed the hand of her mother. "Mrs. Greengrass."

Mrs. Greengrass, with a genuinely pleased smile to contrast with her daughter's frown, addressed him, "My word, Blaise Zabini back in England? Am I dreaming?"

Zabini chuckled. "You flatter me, Mrs. Greengrass. I can only aspire to star in such a lovely lady's dreams."

Astoria rolled her eyes just as a young man, sopping wet and dripping water all over the place rushed over to the trio. "Damien! Have you got us a ride?"

The dark-haired man shook what seemed to be a swimming pool of water out of his hair. "There's not one to get. I haven't been blown away to a distant land or anything either, thanks for asking."

Mrs. Greengrass cried, "Never mind that. You can't have tried!"

"Of course I did."

Astoria was now very anxious, as the giant clock ringing in the background signaled it was now 11:32. "You can't have tried at all."

Mrs. Greengrass, for once, agreed with her daughter. "You really are very helpless, Damien. Go again, and don't come back until you have found a ride!"

Damien sighed, "I shall simply get soaked for nothing."

Astoria was furious. "And what about us? Are we to stay here all night with the rest of this trash? You selfish pig—"

"Oh, all right! All right - I'll go!"

Damien dashed out, only to smack straight into someone stalking towards the group from the throng of other disgruntled wizards and witches standing around. Just then, there was a flash of white lightning in the windows and a peal of thunder rattling the platform, but even they couldn't drown out the exclamation following the collision.

"You GIT! Oh, _fuck — _look what you've done!"

"Sorry." Damien muttered, without looking once at his victim, and promptly exiting.

The foul-mouthed stranger was, in fact, a young woman, around the age of Astoria and Blaise. She had bright scarlet hair that was all matted with mud and stuck to her skin, giving her a striking resemblance to a drowned rat. Her complexion was pale — almost too pale and sickly-looking. It was further blemished by freckles that seemed to overrun her nose and cheeks and, if examined closely enough, crawled all the way up to her forehead. As if to complete the contrast between her and the perfectly-coiffed Greengrasses, she was covered head to toe in shapeless Muggle clothing. At the moment, she was crouched on the ground, trying to gather the papers she'd had in her arms previous to being knocked over by Damien.

Mrs. Greengrass's eyebrows rose while Astoria sniffed and held her nose in the air. Blaise, however, only hesitated a moment before taking two brisk strides over and bending over so as to help the young woman.

When all the papers were stuffed back into freckled arms, the flame-haired woman straightened and eyed Blaise. "Why, if it isn't the great pompous ass Zabini lowering himself to help us poor commoners."

Blaise responded with a charming smile, which automatically lit up his golden eyes. "Nice to see you as well, Weasley. Why are you here, and on the first of September at that? Last I heard, you had no enormous brood of children to match your mother's."

Ginny rolled her eyes and shrugged, resulting in water droplets flying everywhere. To his credit, Blaise just cringed a little when a few landed on his neatly-pressed suit.

"I'm actually just here to get people to sign this petition. It's going to get the Ministry to improve conditions for inmates at Azkaban. Did you know they don't even get a proper bed in their cells? I mean, I'd be surprised if you didn't — how much of your family was imprisoned again?"

Blaise smirked and had just opened his mouth to fire back when a smooth, drawling voice cut in. "They also don't get to take walks in the garden. Injustice, am I right?"

Ginny, Blaise, and the bemused Greengrasses turned to the source of the voice: a young man with platinum-blond hair slicked back neatly, a sharp, pointed nose, and glinting silver eyes. He sat on a bench, previously hidden by the masses, and drew in the sketchbook open in his lap.

The Greengrasses gasped, Blaise's mouth actually fell open for a moment, and one of Ginny's eyebrows rose.

"Draco Malfoy."

"Girl Weasel."

Ginny simply rolled her eyes in response to the childish insult while Blaise stepped forward, having regained his composure.

"Draco, I didn't know you were back in town."

"I was always in town. I've just become the resident hermit," Draco responded, still not actually looking up at his audience.

The darker-skinned man was undeterred, as he was accustomed to this behavior from his old friend, and lowered himself into the seat next to him.

Ginny had just finished counting her fliers (which were steadily becoming dirtier from her muddy fingers) and turned to leave when Draco spoke again.

"Weasley, you can't change the world by passing out flyers with your grubby little hands. Try wearing a tighter top and actually bathing, then you might get some attention."

Ginny whirled around, eyes flashing with rage, and Blaise and even the Greengrasses froze, prepared for some sort of storm from the petite ginger. But Ginny stood stock-still for a minute, eyes bulging and face reddening, and finally hissed a "_fuck you, ferret_" before turning back around and stalking away and out of the platform.

The Greengrass women shared a relieved glance and Blaise loudly exhaled.

Draco didn't look up once.

Blaise leaned over into his friend's space and cleared his throat. "Draco, that was a bit harsh, wouldn't you say?'

"There is no other way of guarding oneself against flattery than by letting men understand that they will not offend you by speaking the truth."

"Machiavelli aside, you really had no right to say that to her. I mean, the poor thing doesn't need to be told by you how she's been on the decline or, rather, er, even needs to 'guard herself against flattery' and whatnot. Potter left her a few months back, and Merlin knows what her horrid family has to say about all that."

Draco finally looked up, an impassive look on his face. "Well then. I just can't be rude to her if she was dumped by the Boy who Saved or whatever the hell it is now, can I?"

Astoria, who had long lost interest in the scene taking place before her, mostly because it had nothing to do with her, cried out, "Look, Mother! The rain has stopped!"

Mrs. Greengrass sighed happily and looped her arm through her daughter's. "Thank Merlin. Let's catch the Knight Bus."

She then stalked off with her daughter, and Astoria's wail of "Mother, no!" echoed off the walls.

Blaise and Draco, both completely ignoring the two women who had just left, continued their conversation.

"Enough about the she-rat. How have you been, Zabini?" One of the corners of Draco's mouth had finally inched up.

Blaise grinned in response. "Well, I just got back in the country from a very long trip around Europe."

"I heard," Draco said wryly.

"Although it was fascinating and very relaxing, it's great to be back home."

"You got kicked out," Draco said bluntly, still focused on his notebook.

Blaise exhaled. "Yes, yes I did. You know of any good permanent residences?"

Draco finally looked up and glared. "You're not seriously asking me that, are you?"

"What?"

"Blaise, we may not have talked in years, but you're always welcome at the Manor," Draco paused, and then reconsidered. "Well, at least for two months. My parents are out at our vacation home for the summer, but they'll be back in September. It's up to them when they get back."

"Please, Draco Lucius, your parents adore me," Blaise arched an eyebrow. "I'm like the son that's better than the one they have."

"Watch it, or I may have to rescind the offer." Draco smirked.

At that moment, Damien Greengrass raced back onto the platform, only to find it empty besides the two men seated on the bench, groaned, and stomped back out.

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><p><strong>UPDATED 10.28.2015: <strong>

**Fic to have current chapters updated and to be fully completed soon.**

**New fic cover photo: Pygmalion by Boris Vallejo**

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><p><strong>Lizz's Prompt #1<strong>

**Basic premise: **Rework the basic storyline or theme of a work of mythology or classic (in the broadest sense as you would like) literature to Draco and Ginny at any point in their lives.

**Must haves: **Allusions to the original work.

**No-no's: **Fluff, OOC-ness.

**Rating range: **Any (although smut is _not_ preferred).

**Bonus points: **If you can include dialogue or quotes from the original in your fic.

**Original** **A/N: The classic I chose (because Lizz did say in the broadest sense) was the play ****_Pygmalion_****. It was written in 1912 by George Bernard Shaw and later adapted into the film ****_My Fair Lady _****(1964), starring Audrey Hepburn. **

**I first came across the book last winter, and immediately fell in love with it. Eliza and Higgins had such a Draco/Ginny dynamic that of course it swept me in. I highly recommend it to anyone who likes reading.**

**There are plenty of quotes, especially in this first act, that are from the original play. I couldn't go back and find them all, so if you're interested, the play is online (Fanfiction won't allow me to post the link here, unfortunately, but you can message me for it, if necessary.)**

**Enjoy!**


	2. Act 1, Scene 2

**ACT 1**

**Scene 2**

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><p><em>Malfoy Manor. September 12, 2002. 9:15 AM<em>

Lounging in the parlor and comfortable as ever on a luxurious white leather chaise, Blaise was sipping at his tea and leisurely perusing today's copy of _The Daily Prophet_ when he suddenly felt something tugging on his pants. He peered down to see little Milly, Draco's house elf, her arms politely folding back behind her little toga-clad body.

"Mister Zabini will like biscuits with his tea?" Her high-pitched, shrill voice rang throughout the room.

Blaise sighed, exasperated. He would never complain about living in luxury, but the house elves really could get annoying with their ever-burning desire to please.

"No, Milly, but thank you for offering." He smiled back at the little creature. Two years abroad had taught him that not everybody had servants, and that those who did should treat them with respect, or risk mutiny.

(The reformed Ministry did not see torture as justifiable as a means of discipline anymore — rather unfortunately, if you were to ask Blaise's mother.)

Milly gave a great, shuddering gasp, and her bulbous eyes welled up with tears.

Blaise closed his eyes. House elves had a worse reaction to being treated with any sort of kindness than actually being tortured. He hoped, for the first time in his life, that obnoxious Potter boot-licker Granger was getting somewhere with her stupid house elf movement.

Milly was even worse than most house elves because she belonged to the Malfoys. Right now, her tiny frame was vibrating as she somehow managed to speak through her tears. "Master... _never..._ Milly never even _knew… _such treatment from a master_... _so kind..."

Blaise rolled his eyes before awkwardly trying to comfort the sobbing house elf for the seventeenth time in three days. At this moment, Draco finally thumped down the stairs, still in his bathrobe and pajamas (which were of course, both designer) with his hair ruffled and sticking up all over the place.

Blaise, on the first morning, had been shocked to find his normally slick friend looking so unkempt, but he'd soon realized that as a recluse who lived all alone, Draco often didn't bother to even dress until two in the afternoon.

Blaise followed Draco into the dining room, where disheveled, pajama-clad Draco sat in a lavishly ornate chair, waiting patiently for Milly to bring up his breakfast.

"Good morning." Draco nodded at an amused Blaise.

In response, Blaise waved the paper in his face. "The Minister's planning a gala in honor of the anniversary of the war reforms."

"And you think that's the best place to reintroduce yourself to society, and by extension, the papers," Draco finished, reaching over the table for a cup of tea.

"Yes, I do. The only people I've seen so far have been you and the Greengrasses. Hardly the best company," Blaise added, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Draco snorted. "You can say that again. I can't stand them — _any _of them, not just their wretched daughter — for more than brief and infrequent bursts of time."

"You don't like Astoria? I thought she'd be exactly your type of girl — gorgeous, obedient, pureblooded, no ambition in life but to be able to shop for hours on end without looking at price tags..."

Draco looked hard at his old friend. "You've changed, too, Zabini. Last I knew, we'd have been both competing for that sort of girl," He said, turning to the window contemplatively. "Don't fall further into the trap of self-centeredness. No, I've changed as much as you, if not more. Look at me right now, even," Draco looked back at Blaise with an impassive face. "I'm living all on my own, free of my parents for now, rarely leaving the house, certainly not mingling with society. Am I at all the boy you left behind?"

Blaise grinned wolfishly. "I don't know, are you still an arrogant selfish bastard?"

Draco's smooth expression broke into a smirk. "Right on the first two counts, but I finally did confirm — my mother and father _were_ married before I was born."

The sound of little thuds coming from the hallway reached their ears, and they turned expectantly to the doorway before Milly stumbled in and bowed deeply, flaps of fabric flying everywhere.

"Milly does not wish to interrupt, Master, but you have a guest."

Blaise raised an eyebrow and turned to a frowning Draco. "I'm not expecting anyone."

Draco's expression made it clear that he certainly wasn't expecting anyone. "Bring them in."

Milly left and returned two minutes later. Someone (assumedly a person) waddled in a huge woolen coat with a tuft of red hair sticking out at the top.

"She Weasel." Draco identified their guest almost immediately.

Blaise now had two eyebrows raised and looked over at Draco, who shrugged as if to say _what did you expect?_

"That's right," said the guest in question, shrugging off her monster of a coat.

"To what do we owe the displeasure?" Draco muttered, who had gone back to forking an omelette into his mouth.

Ginny glared at him while simultaneously blowing a strand of hair out of her face. She then crossed her arms over a horrendous pink jumper displaying her name across her chest in gold. She closed her eyes and sighed, "Shit."

Blaise and Draco exchanged glances. Clearly the suspense was meant for something rather impressive (and, Draco hoped, embarrassing).

After a few more moments of silence, Ginny finally opened her eyes. "I need your help, Malfoy."

Blaise managed to keep his jaw from dropping open this time.

Draco, facial expression still frozen into a single arched eyebrow from moments ago, sat still for a second and then actually got up, walked closer, cocked his ear, and said, "Sorry?"

Ginny's eyes flamed, but she repeated herself, "I need your help."

Draco stepped back and smirked so widely Blaise thought his face would break in half. "Finally. A Weasley admits they are inferior to a Malfoy."

Ginny stomped her foot. "Never, you albino blast-ended skrewt."

"Why, you little — "

"Ladies, stop it." Blaise drawled, stepping smoothly in between the two.

He turned to Ginny. "What could you possibly need help on from Draco?"

Ginny exhaled noisily. "Fuck, where do I start? Well, I've found, that even as the Minister's daughter, I am rarely taken seriously. Hell, Hermione's taken more seriously than me, and the only subjects she gets passionate about are books and elf rights! At first, I thought it was because I'm not as much of a household name as her, Harry, or Ron, but I've started to realize that's not the only reason. People's eyes literally pass over me, and I'm so tired of it! I have so much to say, but nobody cares beca- "

"Because you look the way you look," Draco interjected rudely.

For once, Ginny didn't argue. "Partly," she agreed miserably. "And if lowering myself to a shallow societal depiction of beauty and elegance is what it takes to make a difference, so be it."

Blaise was sure there must be some fundamental miscommunication. "Wait, Weasley, you want us to give you a _make-over_?"

Draco scoffed, "Of course not. She wants us to make her into a lady."

Ginny brightened. "Yes. I need to have that special sophistication that most people in the reformed Ministry don't have. Of course, on me, it won't be as arrogant as it is on you."

Draco glared. "I thought you needed my help. You can't be slow enough to think insulting me helps your cause."

She rolled her eyes but hesitated. "Well, both of yours," she nodded at Blaise. "I need someone who's actually respected in public, too."

Blaise chuckled. "Well, I'm more absent in public than anything."

"Whatever," Draco snapped. "MILLY!"

The house elf appeared with a loud _CRACK! _"Yes, Master?"

"Take our guest upstairs, draw a bath, and get her out of that eyesore of a jumper."

"Merlin's balls," Ginny yelped as Milly yanked her arm down and started to tug. "Now wait a minute, Malf-" Ginny's frightened face disappeared as Milly dragged her out of the room.

Blaise grabbed himself a muffin and took a bite before saying what was on his mind. "Why did you take her up, Draco? You're not getting anything out of this."

Draco grinned, his silver eyes glinting. "Don't you see, Zabini? If I can pass off that little ragamuffin clown as a lady, I can take a Muggle and get them admitted to Durmstrang. It's the ultimate challenge!"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Draco. She used to be quite the looker in our Hogwarts days, but she's really let herself go since. And I mean, _really. _Not to mention that language. Entertaining, absolutely, but only because it will scandalize the society ladies out of their pantyhose. It'll be a tough job, if not impossible."

Draco raised his eyebrows at Blaise. "Are you saying I can't do it?"

"I don't think anyone can do it."

Draco's feral grin almost reached his ears. "It's on. Twenty thousand galleons — not a single person at that gala of yours will recognize Weasley, not even her parents."

Blaise swiped a plump green apple of the table and bit in. "It's too bad I'm thanking you for your hospitality by stealing twenty thousand Galleons off you."

They both resumed their activities, pausing only to smirk knowingly at each other over the shrieks coming from two floors above them for the next three hours.

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><p><strong>UPDATED 10.28.2015<strong>


	3. Act 2, Scene 1

**ACT 2**

**Scene 1**

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><p><em>Malfoy Manor. September 13, 2002. 12:45 PM<em>

Blaise strolled down the stairs of the manor languidly, having particularly and stopped suddenly, surprised to see Ginny Weasley walking across the floor of the foyer.

Actually, it was only by process of elimination that he came to the conclusion that it _was _Ginny Weasley. If it weren't for the fact that Draco was a six-foot-tall, platinum blond man and Milly was a damn house elf, then he might have actually questioned the fact that the petite redheaded female figure before him was in fact Weasley.

Her hair wasn't the tangled mass it usually was; now she had sleek and shiny curls that fell across her pale bare back like a phoenix's fiery feathers. Her hair no longer fell in front of her face, so her bright hazel eyes gleamed under long, silky lashes. Her lips were rose pink, plump, and parted as she glanced up to check the heavy book on her head. She wore a white halter sundress that showed off her sloped back and a few other … _assets_. Freckles were still sprinkled all over her body, but they didn't seem half as unattractive as they did a day ago. Instead of marring her now glowing porcelain skin, her freckles could easily pass for golden stardust sprinkled on her svelte figure by the heavens…

Blaise stood at the foot of the stairs, stunned, as Draco walked up to him from behind with a smug look on his face and quietly, so as not to disturb the object of their observation, said, "Still think you're going to steal twenty thousand Galleons from me?"

Blaise couldn't tear his eyes away from the Venus balancing a book precariously on her head ten feet away from them. "You've absolutely transformed her."

"Well, she certainly looks a lot more attractive. But Weasley here needs a little more than just physical grooming. I'm working on mannerisms while Milly's out gathering up a new wardrobe," Draco replied, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.

Both men's attention went to Ginny again fully when the book finally toppled from her head.

"Fucker!" She growled, swooping down to grab the offending book from the floor.

"Yeah, I'm not too worried." Blaise muttered to Draco as the awe in him made room for amusement. Still, his tawny, sharp eyes swept over every curve of Ginny's body as she dusted herself off and stood again.

Draco, on the other hand, scowled and stalked over to Ginny, his olive silk robe trailing behind him. "Weasley. _Weasley._"

"What, Malfoy?" She asked, not looking at him as she focused on balancing the book precariously on her head again.

He snatched it off her head in one swift motion. "Okay, we're done with this. Etiquette time."

Ginny raised her eyebrows at Draco's back as he raced into the library, then turned and smiled at Blaise. "Enjoying yourself, Zabini?"

Blaise smiled, covertly trying to make sure his eyes were still in their sockets and also slightly panicked at the absence of an expletive on her behalf. "Well, the view is certainly dazzling," he winked flirtatiously, inducing a roll of Ginny's eyes and a pleased smirk. "How's it going, trying to balance a book on your head?"

She threw her arms up and huffed, "First of all, I didn't think that was a legitimate thing. Second of all, it is fucking _hard. _I honestly thought all I'd have to do was wear push-up bras and shirts that make my tits look bigger, but apparently there's more to being a lady."

Blaise snorted. "Weasley, if you just act like this all the time, people will take you more seriously than Potter and his lot."

"I think I'm actually more likely to get thrown out if I say 'tits', actually. Not to mention disowned by my mother." She snickered, pulling her hair over her shoulder.

Blaise grinned back. He'd always liked Ginny as a sparring partner and he was certainly having a hard time at the moment keeping from staring openly at the way her scarlet strands slipped through her manicured, slim fingers, but the Ginny in front of him was something more than that. She was confident and, for once, that confidence wasn't covering up insecurities right below the surface. If you cocked your head a little, they were still there, especially right now, when she seemed to be becoming anxious at his lack of a response and bit her lip, which looked like it might share the texture of a rose petal…

"WEASLEY!" Draco bellowed from the other room.

"The Master calls," Ginny sighed before winking at Blaise and sidling out through the left.

He stood there, transfixed, before following her.

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><p><strong>UPDATED 1029/2015: **

**Previous scenes are being broken up. With the addition of new material and scenes, the fic will most likely end up longer and more detailed than any previous version you may have read during the exchange or on my page.**


	4. Act 2, Scene 2

**ACT 2**

**Scene 2**

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><p><em>Malfoy Manor. September 17, 2002. 2:14 PM<em>

Blaise was sprawled across a chaise in the entrance hall, flipping lazily through a copy of _The Picture of Dorian Grey, _picked for him from the extensive collection in the Malfoy manor's library by Ginny earlier that week. He recalled the circumstances leading to this assignment.

"You've never read _Wilde_?" Ginny's mouth dropped open.

"He's a Muggle," Blaise explained, firmly ignoring the way Ginny's lips had parted into a perfect pink pout.

"That's no excuse, you prejudiced prat!" she cried, her braid swinging around with her as she marched through the vast array of bookshelves into the darkness, the thuds of her bare feet against the plush carpeting becoming softer as she disappeared from view.

He called after her, his voice echoing throughout the grand room, "It's not prejudice, Gin — pureblooded children just generally aren't exposed to Muggle literature. That's fairly obvious. Now would you like to take back your accusation of prejudice, or are you simply too prideful?"

She re-appeared at his side out of nowhere, a graceful bright-eyed sprite next to his significantly taller figure, a scowl on her face. "Reading Austen isn't so much of an achievement; don't be smug."

"More like reading the title of a random book off the shelf," he muttered, to which Ginny responded with an outraged gasp and by smacking his shoulder with a small volume.

He looked at her incredulously.

"That's as high as I can reach," she said defensively. He snorted and then sobered up again when fire started to shoot from her chocolate eyes.

Before she could scold him or use the book as a weapon, he deftly took it from her hand, looking at the cover. "_The Picture of Dorian Grey?"_

"It's a good read. Darker than most of Wilde's usual work, maybe, but I figured you might like it for that very reason. That's what I presume Malfoy enjoys about it, at least," she said, narrowing her eyes so he knew he wasn't totally off the hook but had nevertheless distracted her for the moment.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Of course Malfoy's read it. Bloody old bore, nothing to do but read all his millions of books."

"Now, now," Ginny wagged her finger mockingly at Blaise, which was rather amusing considering she was almost half his size. "You would do well to learn something from Draco in this regard. He may be a stupid prat, but he's certainly well-read."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Learn that routine from Molly?"

The petite ginger made as if to smack him again, so he took a step back, sniggering. "Now wait a minute, when did you and Draco even have time to discuss literature in between him being a drill sergeant and you trying on all these tight outfits — not that I'm complaining, of course," he said, grinning roguishly.

Ginny made a face and was just about to respond when a snide voice pierced the air.

"Sometimes Weasley reads the titles of the books before she puts them back on her head. Surprised me, the first time she did it — I didn't know Weasleys _could _read." Draco stepped out of the shadows on the other side of Ginny, who turned to face him.

Blaise raised his eyebrows both in surprise and as a warning in response to this rudeness, but Draco's silver eyes were focused downward on Ginny, whose hands now gripped the sides of her hips.

"Malfoy, be more subtle about your little tests, why don't you?" She retorted flippantly before stalking out the aisle.

Blaise watched her leave before turning back to Draco, whose indifferent expression hadn't changed, except for one raised eyebrow. Blaise recognized a Malfoy's version of impressed when he saw it.

"Nicely done. She's been progressing at a rate I certainly couldn't have predicted," Blaise complimented Draco.

Draco smirked and stepped closer as if to say something, but was interrupted by Ginny's voice, as she'd paused by the doorway, which she now leaned against, arms crossed across her chest and eyebrows arched.

"However, don't think that if anybody was this disrespectful to me in real life, their arse wouldn't be getting kicked." With that, she swiveled away and out the library.

Draco rolled his eyes and rubbed his temple as Blaise chuckled. "Of course not," the blonde muttered.

"That girl's going to drive you crazy, mate."

Drifting back to his current situation, Blaise picked up _The Picture of Dorian Grey _from his chest again. To be perfectly honest, it was a little slow, but he could certainly see why Draco might enjoy the novel, which centered on a handsome, cunning blond man with many vices, the least serious of which was narcissism. He could certainly imagine a young Draco curled up in the library with his Muggle book, far from Lucius's reach.

Personally, Blaise felt the book would be significantly more interesting if this humorous and charming Lord Henry were the protagonist. Hedonism was entertaining; tragedy, less so.

He wondered what Ginny liked about the novel, since neither the environment of indulgence or entitlement seemed like something she would be interested in. Then again, the past few days had done nothing if not show him that he didn't really know the youngest Weasley.

He shut the book again, closed his eyes, and sighed, rubbing a hand through his thick dark curls and wondering what certain silky auburn strands would feel like.

Just then, a loud banging came from upstairs and caused Blaise's eyes to snap open from their daydreams. Draco, dressed in elegant dark robes and rushing down the stairs, skidded past an extremely concerned Blaise. Draco Malfoy did not nearly trip down stairs, rush around, or dress in an appropriate manner before 3 o' clock, as Blaise had recently learned.

"Draco? What's happening?"

Draco whirled around and pointed at Blaise with one hand while shoving the other into his robes for a wand. "Shut up. And definitely do not talk about Weasley."

He then whirled back around and tapped his wand to the door, which gracefully swung forward with a light tinkling sound, revealing behind it a beautiful platinum blonde woman wearing midnight blue robes and a frown on her face. "Merlin, Draco, took you long enough."

Blaise shot up, _Dorian Grey_ thudding to the floor, all but forgotten.

"Mrs. Malfoy!"

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><p><strong>UPDATED 1029/2015**


	5. Act 2, Scene 3

**ACT 2**

**Scene 3**

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><p><em>Ginny's flat. September 17, 2002. 6:53 PM<em>

Ginny hummed Canon in D to herself as she stirred her tea rhythmically. Dressed in a raggedy old jumper with reindeer on it, fuzzy pink socks, and small pajama shorts — the type Molly Weasley would have a fit about — and with loose vermilion strands covering half her face, she stood in her filthy kitchen between all the dirty dishes she had been too busy to wash the last few days.

Well, that was an excuse; Ginny never washed dishes if she could help it — just ask Molly Weasley.

But right now Ginny wasn't focused on her mother or her cleanliness habits; instead, her reflection on her surroundings was caused by the obvious contrast between her small flat and the always-pristine Malfoy Manor she had been spending so much time in. And, of course, that she was humming Pachelbel instead of The Weird Sisters. Granted, Malfoy had made her practice that piece on the piano for hours (she still didn't know how that would help her with her non-profit or at social events, although maybe he knew something she didn't and guests were regularly called on to play a musical instrument at galas?), but, still, this was really weird.

She placed her spoon carefully in the already overflowing sink and tiptoed through the kitchen into the living room, avoiding the dirty clothes and bags on the floor. She curled up on her loveseat, cradling the hot mug of tea in her hands.

She snorted quietly. Pachelbel and dirty laundry.

Ginny would be lying if she said there weren't some things she enjoyed about this whole transformation process. But that was just it. That word again.

Transformation.

Alkaline treatments and scented scrubs and facials involving fruits she'd never heard of were all well and fine — and their results were _more _than well and fine by her. Flowy, comfortable dresses were lovely, too, so long as she wasn't expected to wear them out in the chilly fall weather. Improving her posture was something she'd always been trying to work on, and she would never tell Malfoy, but he was a better piano teacher than any the Weasleys had ever been able to hire. And, of course, her newfound friendship with Blaise was one of the best things to come out of this. She'd always enjoyed his wit as a verbal opponent, but she never expected to enjoy the company of a privileged, rich, conniving Slytherin quite so much.

Still, she didn't want to quite _transform. _She'd come to Malfoy over a week ago in a moment of desperation — after she failed to get a single signature from the thousands of wizards at King's Cross, Malfoy's incredible but predictable rudeness had sent her running straight to the Burrow, where she had hoped to find support in a household of muddy men but instead walked into Ron and Hermione getting engaged, surrounded by family and friends Ron had somehow overlooked inviting his own sister for this momentous occasion but had, of course, made sure Harry and his new girlfriend were present. One look at Mandy Brocklehurst, who wore "tight" clothes like Malfoy had recommended and was being introduced by her proud new boyfriend as a successful Charms researcher for the Ministry, and Ginny was out of there.

She had refused to talk to any of her family since, and the only person who sent apology flowers and notes after a week was Hermione (Molly, to her credit as a passionate mother, had sent a couple Howlers demanding Ginny respond). Only a part of the reason was resentment at this point; another part was that she wanted to surprise them all at the gala with her new "transformation", and another part was that she was at the Manor so often that she usually didn't even have the time to think about, let alone meet, her family.

Time had given her distance from the heightened emotions of her original decision, and she had decided she didn't want to change all that much. After all, she couldn't have been doing everything wrong — she got her human rights non-profit approved and registered by the Ministry, she was living in her own (albeit unorganized) flat, and she had swallowed her own pride to seek out Malfoy the other day. She didn't want to turn into one of those insipid, useless society women by trying to become more 'likable'.

Ginny was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice her fire place flicker green until someone stepped out of it.

"Weasley, what the devil are you wearing?"

Ginny screamed and dropped her mug, spraying herself with what was now thankfully cold tea.

Draco, looming in front of her in a dark cloak and covered in soot, looked horrified.

Ginny swore, "What in the name of Merlin's saggy balls are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Draco took a deep breath as if to calm himself and shoved a hand forcefully through his hair, making his slicked-back platinum blond locks look more like an owl's ruffled feathers.

Ginny stared. Scratch Pachelbel in her flat being weird. Draco Malfoy ruffling his hair while in her living room was _really_ weird.

"Weasley, please for my sanity, promise me you will not refer to Merlin's balls, saggy or otherwise, in polite company."

"Fine, ferret," Ginny muttered defensively, trying to figure out how to get her tea-stained self off the loveseat without dirtying it. "So long as you tell me what you're doing at my flat this lovely evening."

To her surprise, Draco didn't glare at her for the 'ferret' comment and instead, looking exhausted, held out his hand to her.

Ginny hesitated for just a moment before taking it, and his alabaster long fingers intertwined delicate but firmly with her shorter ones. He pulled her with a force that she didn't expect from such a lanky man into the little patch of open floor that he occupied since most of the rest of the hardwood was cluttered with all sorts of crap.

It just so happened that the little patch was rather _small, _and Ginny cursed her messiness as she found herself face-to-face with Draco's chest.

Hm. It was broader than she'd previously realized. And were those… _muscles_ that the cloak was doing a mighty fine job of emphasizing?

A drawl broke through her musings. "Ever heard of shelves, Weasley?"

Ginny flushed, hoping that Draco hadn't noticed her checking him out — or, rather, mistaken her simple observations for her checking him out. "Ever heard of trespassing laws, Malfoy?" she retorted.

"Oh, shut up," he groaned, now leading her by hand through a carefully chosen path to her bathroom.

He stopped short of the doorway and let her hand go, nodding at her to go wash up inside.

Ginny muttered a 'thanks', went in, and shut the door, rubbing the hand he had been holding, which was suddenly warmer than her cheeks.

She washed her face in the white sink, eventually just gripping the sides of it and staring down at the water swirling around and around and down to the pipes.

She looked up finally to see her face turning redder by the second.

What. Was. Draco. Malfoy. Doing. In. Her. Flat.

Going to his manor and playing dress-up or whatever was all good and well. But Ginny's flat was the real world — where Malfoy just didn't factor in.

Even worse, though — what was up with admiring his muscles?

Well, Ginny reasoned, trying to comfort herself with far-fetched logic, anybody standing that close to him at that height would have had to notice the shape (and bulk) of his arms. Yeah, that was it.

So, after changing, Ginny exited her bathroom cursing her laziness and procrastination when it came to cleaning her flat, only to stop short when she noticed Draco standing awkwardly in the middle of her bedroom.

"Er, I couldn't quite figure out a safe way back to the living room."

"Sure," Ginny replied dryly, "never mind the fact that you navigated back here pretty easily five minutes ago or that my drawer's tightly closed when I can never get it to do that."

Draco's porcelain skin turned the slightest shade pinker, but he stood his ground. "I figured I should know more about the person who's in my home all the time."

Ginny scoffed before walking over and checking the dresser's drawer for herself to make sure there was nothing too embarrassing in it, like panties or, God forbid, a Weasley sweater. "Merlin, Malfoy, just admit you're a snoop and get over it."

Draco examined her for a moment, and then finally hung his head and scratched the back of his neck. "Yes, well, I apologize for being a 'snoop', then."

"What?" Ginny asked self-consciously, crossing her arms across her chest inadvertently.

"Nothing, nothing," Draco assured her, seeing her nervousness. "You just did it again. The thing from the library earlier, I mean."

"Oh." That reminded Ginny of what had been weighing on her mind. She sat down on the bad between them, facing him. "Listen, Draco…"

She looked up at that moment and found him staring at her, speechless. She almost looked behind her before realizing her mistake. "Uh, sorry."

"No, Weasley," Draco seemed to have regained his voice, although it was still a little hoarse. "If you've earned anything from taking my orders so well, it's the right to call me by my first name."

"Nobody's taking orders from anybody, ferret," Ginny snapped before realizing quite what he'd said. She hesitated for a moment before answering, "Well, call me Ginny then."

Draco grimaced before sitting down next to her. "We'll work up to it."

Ginny grinned before playfully swatting at the blonde. "Now what are you actually here for?"

All traces of humor vanished from Draco's face as he groaned and dropped his face into his hands.

"Oh, dear."

Draco's voice, although muffled, still reached her. "I've heard you're aware of the emotional hurricane that is an overbearing mother?"

"Buddy, you are preaching to the choir," Ginny muttered before adding an obligatory 'sorry' when Draco pulled his hands down to reveal his grey eyes, obviously unsettled by their new familiarity.

"So," he continued as if he hadn't heard her, "my personal family crisis is home at the Manor right now, laughing and drinking merrily with Zabini but never forgetting to look for things to nag me about."

Ginny made a sympathetic noise but couldn't quite stop herself from asking, "Sure your personal family crisis is not in Azkaban?"

Draco actually cracked a small smile before answering, "Unfortunately not."

"Damn."

Draco sighed before turning to the redhead. "What this means for us is that your training will not be able to continue at the Manor for the moment. Luckily, you've been doing well enough that I think we can speed the process up enough to test how you do with my mother tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Ginny squeaked, eyes wide at the prospect of confronting Narcissa Malfoy on her own turf. "Listen, Draco, I'm not even sure I want to continue at all."

"What? Weasley, you've been doing incredibly, and I have high standards, so you know a compliment from me means something."

Ginny couldn't help but laugh. "Maybe you should be the one learning humility, Draco. But honestly, I've been enjoying my time with you, Blaise, and Milly, but it's time to return to reality and the real person I am, not the jobless fairy princess I've been these past few days."

Draco looked at her intently. "I see. And real you wears ugly tube socks?"

"Yes." Ginny nodded emphatically. "And she's passionate about the proletariat and doesn't turn up her nose at popular music and doesn't hang out at manors and doesn't wash her hair every day and doesn't practice her table manners. I don't need to do that to succeed. And if I do have to change into a wholly different person to succeed, then maybe I'm not meant to be successful."

Draco responded exasperatedly, "Weasley, you're going to be successful, so-called 'transformation' or not. That is guaranteed with the level of passion and dedication and ambition that you carry with you. Hell, the more I get to know you, the more I'm surprised you weren't Sorted as an overly happy Slytherin."

A corner of Ginny's mouth lifted, but Draco could see how her caramel eyes remained unsure.

"As for the whole becoming a snob like me issue, I don't think it's quite as big a deal as you think it is. Liking classical music doesn't make you one of the _bourgeoisie _and you're already a surprisingly cultured woman — or at least I was surprised. You're a bit like Sibyl Vane in that way. Lower class but nevertheless overwhelmingly talented and artistic."

"Thanks for the compliment, Malfoy." Ginny rolled her eyes but smiled appreciatively at Draco, letting him know that his words had gotten through. "Now can we not compare ourselves to tragic characters from _Dorian Grey? _I like that book, but I don't think its morbidity needs to translate into real life."

Draco nodded in agreement before hesitating. "Listen, Weasley, I need a favor. I can't go back to the Manor tonight for reasons pertaining to my sanity as well as the fact that we need to get you ready before we go back…"

Ginny stared blankly at him for a few moments before realizing that Draco Malfoy was asking to sleep over at her place. Oh, Merlin, he really didn't have any friends, did he?

"Yeah… sure. Uh, the only thing is I don't quite have anywhere else you can sleep, since there's definitely not enough empty floor space and the loveseat is both wet with tea and much too small for you…."

"Ah," Draco said, rather eloquently, turning another couple of shades pinker. "Well, I don't mean to inconvenience you so I could always go back."

Now, no child of Molly Weasley's could ever turn away a guest in need (except, perhaps, Percy) and, if she was honest with herself, Ginny didn't quite want whatever weird moment of honesty and friendship she and Draco were sharing right now. So she hastily exclaimed, "No, listen, you stay and sleep here. After all, someone as small as me doesn't need a queen-sized bed, right?"

(Wrong. Very wrong. Ginny did, in fact, need a queen-sized bed and she needed _all _the space.)

"If you're sure," Draco answered rather awkwardly, pausing for a moment as if waiting for her to change her mind and then, when she didn't, taking off his shoes and cloak and arranging them carefully on the dresser. Ginny lay down stiffly, unsure how to arrange her limbs or if she was allowed to flip around under the circumstances. Once Draco lay down similarly, she put her left hand out and fumbled around for the lamp switch, finally turning it out a few moments later and plunging them into darkness.

"Good night, Draco."

"Good night, Weasley."

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><p><strong>UPDATED 1102/2015**


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